


elemental

by bearonthecouch



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alchemy, Gen, Headcanon, Learning Disabilities, Reading Aloud, kid Royai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 21:23:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15693648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearonthecouch/pseuds/bearonthecouch
Summary: He knows most of Master Hawkeye’s previous apprentices hadn’t lasted more than a week. Roy’s on his fourth day, and he’s drowning.





	elemental

**Author's Note:**

> elemental: 1. primary or basic. (synonyms: fundamental, essential, root, underlying) 2. (of an emotion) having the primitive and inescapable character of a force of nature.
> 
>  
> 
> This story assumes my headcanon, previously established in "Unstandardized Tests" and "Making Friends and Influencing People," that Roy Mustang has dyslexia.

“Wait. You wanna be an alchemist and you can’t _read_?”

Master Hawkeye’s young daughter stares at him with wide eyes that somehow still manage to be accusing. Her name is Riza - Miss Hawkeye - and she follows him around while pretending not to, turning back to her chores or her own books whenever Roy tries to catch her eye or talk to her. She’s polite enough, and sometimes even completely impolite, out of nowhere. Like now.

“I can read,” Roy growls. His face is flushed with embarrassment, and he concentrates on the words swimming in front of him on the page, half of them aren’t even _Amestrian_ words, and he might have to admit that she’s right about him being totally fucked in his choice of career path.

The thing is, until he came here, he’d never _needed_ to read to do alchemy. He’d just talked to a State Alchemist who came to his aunt’s place fairly often; for whatever reason, the man didn’t mind hanging around talking to a curious kid after he was finished with his business upstairs. Madam Christmas didn’t mind either, if it meant Roy’s piercing questions and quiet stubbornness weren’t directed at her, for a change. So they talked, and the alchemist challenged Roy to think about what things were made of, and whenever Roy made his guesses, the alchemist wrote them down, and Roy copied the formulas and ratios until he was able to judge whether or not they were correct, even when no one else was around. He pulled a few basic alchemy texts out of the library and ignored the words, focused on the diagrams, learned how to draw a circle and experimented until he understood what the basic shapes were for.

The first time he successfully transmuted something on command - a shotglass that made his aunt shake her head and laugh - it felt… well, not _easy_ , but like something he understood. It was a feeling he had never experienced in school, and he figured he finally had an idea of what he wanted to do with his life.

So. Alchemy. He knows most of Master Hawkeye’s previous apprentices hadn’t lasted more than a week. Roy’s on his fourth day, he’s drowning, and he hasn’t transmuted a single thing since he got here.

There aren’t any diagrams in this book that he can find. From the words he can pick out, it’s about the four basic elements: earth, air, fire, water. The basic elements on which the world is made. Roy knows that those elements are comprised of a bunch of other, invisible yet still tangible elements that an alchemist has to understand. Hydrogen. Helium. Lithium. Sodium. Dozens more, some more important than others, all of them represented by numbers and symbols and structured in an order that Roy has repeated aloud under his breath in quiet moments until it comes to mind without him having to think about it.

He looks up from the book at scrawny Riza Hawkeye, with her boy-short hair and her schoolgirl uniform, and he swears she’s almost laughing at him. “You’re waiting for me to get kicked out, aren’t you?” She just shrugs. Roy sighs. “How many apprentices have there been before me?”

“I dunno. Seven? I think?”

“I can be a good alchemist.”

“Not if you can’t answer his questions.” Her voice is almost sing-song. Almost teasing.

Roy narrows his eyes. “Do you know what he’s going to ask?”

She looks at him, for a long time, and then shakes her head. And then she pulls the book away from him and starts to read. Roy’s so shocked at first that he doesn’t hear a word she’s saying. But she doesn’t stop, except to glance up at him once, trying to judge if he wants her to continue. He nods, and she keeps reading.

The words are long and complicated, even the Amestrian ones, but she never stumbles. Roy leans back into the chair and closes his eyes and listens, the confident cadence of her speech making it easy for him to file away every word. After half an hour or so, she stops. Roy opens his eyes to see her smiling shyly at him.

“Thanks,” he says softly.

She pushes the book back to him. “I like you, Mister Mustang.”

She slides off her own chair and starts pulling out pots and vegetables to start making their dinner. Roy sits there, equal parts dumbfounded and grateful.

Eventually, he gets up and starts helping chop potatoes and carrots. When she looks up at him with a confused frown, he just shrugs. “You help me, I help you. It’s equivalent exchange, right?”

She grins and he smiles back, and the next week, he’s still there.


End file.
